Welcome to Larkenvale
Welcome to Larkenvale The city of Arkrest was ill prepared for Illiv. He was immediately arrested by a number of guardsmen, who poured over his dry, stoic demeanor with questions that were answered in the most exasperating monotone that the man in paint seemed capable of producing. Eventually he was taken peacefully to their captain, where he was seated in a sweltering tower room to be questioned further. Dak Gerethson was working captain of a small portion of Arkrest’s garrison. He was a tidy man who had had a long, boring day in the baking heat of summer. His wife was currently preparing a dinner for him to come home to, and he was excited to leave his post just slightly early when a knock came on his door. “Captain! We have a prisoner here who requires questioning!” came a voice from the other side. He sighed. His men’s incompetence was baffling at times. “Then throw him in a damn cell! It’s nearly quitting time for me.” A pause, then “Well sir he hasn’t committed a crime. Should we let him go?” there was trepidation in the question. Dak groaned and pushed back his chair. This was probably important. “Alright, bring him on in.” Dak Gerethson, like most of Arkrest, was ill prepared for the sight that greeted him. A tall man with his face painted white and black walked into the room wearing long dark robes. He was in shackles, but there were swords at his sides. His torso, exposed by the robes, revealed a horrible patchwork of mutilation and threads. “Ummmm sir, here he is.” The guardsman who had spoken earlier stepped from behind the prisoner. A short fellow with a thick beard and a red face. Dak took a moment to place the man, then “Sergeant Lars. Who is this man in my office?” he asked as he looked the prisoner up and down. “Well sir…his name is Illiv Cell and we caught him walking through the west gate earlier. That’s about all I can place. He’s been rather quiet. Cooperative though.” He glanced at the man next to him. It was obvious that he was nervous. Dak shifted his attention back to the prisoner. “Illiv Cell. Would you mind telling me your intentions here in Arkrest?” “I follow the path the gods have set before me.” A part of Dak died inside. This was just wonderful. Just what he had been hoping for. This man probably involved the fate of all humanity or some bullshit and here he was being a shithead in his office. He wiped the sweat from his brow and got comfortable in his chair. “Well Illiv, does that path involve hurting people in my city?” “I serve the gods. I do as they will. Would you do otherwise?” “I suppose not. They’re the gods after all, I imagine I’d be struck down by lightning to defy their holy wishes.” He said in good humor. He smiled and the other man gave nothing back. Fine, things would be simple then. “Would you by chance be affiliated with a group by the name of the Grim Host?” He waited and looked for a sign of recognition. Still nothing. “No.” “Are you certain? Because sitting right here you rather look like one. They worship Unquala, kidnap dock hands, and smuggle foreign goods? They hide in the sewers and caves by the waterfront?” A cocked head. “If they worship Unquala why do you not work alongside them? Do you not have faith in the gods? Why do they hide?” Dak groaned and put his head in his hands, massaging his temples. “Take him. He’s clueless, and not breaking any laws as I see it” Righting himself quickly as the others turned to leave he called out “We’ll have an eye on you, Illiv! Don’t let me catch you dressed in that paint again or we’ll have trouble!” The guards scrubbed his face, and unshackled and deposited him just outside the tower. Nonplussed, he strode in the direction of the water, hoping to find a more sympathetic source of information. As he walked along the streets in the dim twilight, he happened to pass through a part of a ghetto in Arkrest, the edge of a destitute trading district right before the port. Illiv observed the dirty, ill clad street vendors and hagglers with only a passive interest until he came upon a man begging at a corner, dressed in rags asking passersby for spare coin. He stood, leaning on a warm brick wall as the sun set, watching with fascination a multitude of beggars all moaning and crying on numerous street corners.. Eventually he approached the first one that he had noticed. A rancid smell of stale alcohol and rotten meat assaulted his nostrils, but did not faze him. “Sir!” he called “Yes, you, sir! May I have a word with you?” The man in rags seemed hesitant, but eventually shambled over to Illiv. “Ay, spare coin?” Illiv pulled forth a solid gold coin from his robes and the other man’s eyes widened. “’ay the Se’en bless yer heart, Sire!” Illiv handed over the coin. The other man’s dirty hands and blackened fingernails darted out to grab it. He began to turn away when Illiv stopped him. “But sir, why are you so desperate for coin that you beg on corners for it? Do you worship this wealth?” he jingled the sack of coin on his belt and the other man looked placidly back at him. “Life’s been ‘ard, you know?” “No, I don’t. What do you mean?” The beggar eyed him cautiously “Got no job. Used to be a sailor, but lost my boat.” “Then why do you not work some other job until you can buy a new boat?” “No jobs hirin’. I looked, I really did. I still lookin’.” He shifted nervously. “Very well then, I will give you a job working for me. You will serve in my army, dedicated to the goddess of death, Unquala.” The other man turned away and mumbled “I gotta go, no thanks, sire. No thanks.” Illiv stepped back and examined the other man. He decided to follow him; night was setting. He eventually followed the man back to a ramshackle tavern, and as he peeked inside saw a bartender shove a bottle of alcohol in the other man’s direction with an intense derision. Interesting. He mulled over thoughts of this exchange, of whether the beggar deserved to die, when a commotion in an alley caught his attention. Stepping through the trash that littered the ground, by torchlight he was able to see a small circle of men gathered around two men, shirtless, fighting a savage brawl. Both of the men were untrimmed, and seemed destitute, and Illiv watched in amazement as one of the men in the pit put the other in a chokehold, and without hesitation broke the other’s neck. The people around him began to go wild with cheering, and several placed gold coin in the killer’s hands. This man seemed useful. Illiv waited until the crowd dispersed before approaching him. “Sir, excuse me?” The other man had donned a torn and tattered tunic, and turned a face with burning red scratch marks to answer the question. “Yes?” Illiv immediately noticed that this man spoke much more clearly than the man he had given the coin to earlier. “Why were you fighting that man?” The fighter turned his head to the sky and laughed weak laughter. “Oh if that isn’t the question. I suppose I did it to survive. Maybe a little bit out of hate.” That caught Illiv’s attention. Would you mind attending a tavern? I can give you food for your time. I am curious about your story.” The other man paused and analyzed the swords upon Illiv’s hips. “Sure. Why the hell not? What’s the worst that can happen- you killing me or something?” He roared with laughter, and slapped his knees. Illiv smiled. “No such thing. Let us walk.” There was a tavern open not far away, and they reached it in little time. They had introduced themselves. The other man was named Botard, and when Illiv claimed to be chosen by Unquala he declared that he himself must have been chosen by Hurin. As they sat and ordered food, Illiv inquired “Why are you chosen by Hurin? Does it involve the way you killed that man? Had he wronged you, or others?” Botard paused for a moment in thought, then “It’s a rather long story. Eh, or maybe not.” He took a sip of his ale. “I used to be rich, then I lost it all after some bastard stabbed me in the back. I’m homeless, but I’m alright with that. I don’t really care about the money I lost, you know? More about the guy who did it to me.” Illiv sat back. “Do you think that perhaps the gods chose this path for you? Did that man do it to you?” Botard laughed again. “The gods must be hard of hearing then. I’ve been praying for Hurin’s blessing for half a year now. I’ve seen nothing but pain in response. No I guess that man didn’t do it to me, but having spent so much time among the filth of this city I can quite accurately say that I hate it.” “Perhaps Hurin was punishing you for something wrong you did?” “To be honest, I really don’t think I deserved it all. Perhaps I haven’t been a saint my whole life, but I certainly did nothing to constitute that sort of retribution. So I guess maybe the gods are just assholes, eh?” He smiled, and Illiv did not. “No? Ok then, haha. Your life.” He raised his hands defensively. Illiv sat and pondered this man. He was an interesting case, if he was being honest. Their food came then, wonderful, warm, and filling. Illiv ate slowly and savored every bite, and when he was done he began his questioning again. “Do you mind if I ask some more questions, Botard?” “Sure, why not?” the other man had ordered another helping of food. Illiv would guess that he had not had a hot meal in a long time. “Why are there so many men without homes here? Without jobs?” The question had been eating at Illiv all night. Botard stopped eating for a moment and made eye contact with Illiv. “Uhhhhh…is this some sort of deeper question, because you don’t look like that’s what you mean.” Illiv scowled “I mean what I say. I strongly dislike liars.” “Well…because I guess this is a run down area of town. You’ll see a lot of beggars here.” “Yes but why do they not have jobs? Why do they waste their days standing on street corners contributing nothing and seeking money? Do they follow some cult…?” Illiv let the question trail off as the other man stared at him in wonder. Botard set down his silverware. “Ummmm…oh boy…” he ran his hand through his matted hair “I suppose most of them are usually addicted to something or other, be it gambling, drink, or otherwise. I myself am more or less blacklisted from most areas of the job market and I suppose I’ve been a bit prideful in picking my jobs.” “Why are these men not given fighting jobs? Why does your town not give them a task to do?” Botard laughed once more. “Well isn’t that a fan''tastic question? I don’t have a clue. Where’d you say you were from?” “My home is no longer.” Botard analyzed Illiv in the dim light of the tavern to the best of his ability. Good posture, calm. He’s probably done fighting. He noticed for the first time the other’s thread-filled chest and recoiled mentally. “Well uhhhh…I can see why.” There was an awkward pause. “Soooo…that’s an interesting…thing…you’ve got going on with your torso…things…there, buddy.” Botard was certain that the eye contact that ensued might have driven lesser men mad. “Ahhhh, I was going to bring that point up.” “Please, do explain!” Botard’s words were high pitched and came out fast. He could feel his cheeks burning. “As I said before, I worship Unquala. Allow me to tell you my story.” By the end of Illiv’s tale, Botard had concluded that both he and this other man were actually already quite mad. “It is thus that I believe that you too worship Unquala.” Botard looked upon Illiv and raised an eyebrow in response. “You killed that fighter. You didn’t need to. You did so because you seem him as less than you, as scum. You want to kill those who have wronged you. You care nothing about the justice of it all. You just want it done. You worship nothing else. Not money, not comfort, and certainly not justice. If anything, the gods have been punishing you for being false with yourself.” Botard thought the other man’s words over. In his prior life he had found religious studies to be fascinating, and had devoted an enormous amount of his time praying to Hurin before he had given up hope. “But how am I chosen by her? I can accept that no god has paid me heed, but I see no salvation in death. In fact, I rather like living.” He saw a slight smile play upon Illiv’s lips. “I am here, and I seek to form for my Lady a great host, an organization of people who are as devoted to her as I am. To further the goals she has set us men. To gather information, knowledge. Things that last beyond death, and that are more precious than our transient lives. To teach people to embrace their destinies, and be at peace. Death is not a violent thing.” “Well…I guess I owe you for the meal, and it couldn’t hurt to give you a hand. Maybe I’ll get lucky and change my fate. So what do you want from me? To join this…cult?” “All I ask of you is that you bestow death upon those whose fates have called for it. Those homeless men that will spend the remainder of their lives squandering away the precious thing they have been given. Death would be a more honorable thing for them. Kill those criminals who oppose the progress of knowledge, and if you deem it necessary, those unfortunate enough to have sealed their fate by hampering the life of a man chosen by death.” Botard looked up and smiled. He had nothing, really. He had been living as nothing more than a corpse these last weeks. He thought about all those who Illiv had promised dead and smiled. It felt right. “Yeah, why not?” Illiv stood then and sat the sack he carried on his back down upon the table. It sounded heavier than Botard had expected. He shuffled through its contents, there was an audible clanging inside, and as Illiv pulled out a handful of golden jewelry and coins, Botard’s eyes widened like saucers. Illiv set it on the table. Several heads turned. “This is yours. I want you to take over this city and raise me an army of those who hold true in their hearts our beliefs.” Botard stared, gaping, at the sum of gold in front of him. It was more than many men would see in a life time. With this, he could buy a ship. A sword. Revenge. A life- not the one he had had…but…a start. Hope. He looked up at his savior. “Are you some sort of angel?” “Would an angel know?” Botard wanted to cry. “You accepted Unquala as your goddess. Here is her reward for you. Stay true to your faith and I am certain that you will be rewarded further by life. You will find your peace, Botard.” Illiv tied the bag up and made to leave, and Botard froze for a moment. He scooped the coin and jewelry into his arms and chased after the other, meeting him outside the door of the tavern. “Stop! Holy seven, stop!” He paused for a moment, debating whether or not he would upset them using their name. “Just stop, please!” Illiv did so and turned. “Where are you even going! Back to the abyss?” Botard laughed nervously “What am I supposed to do with this!” he held out the gold. “I told you what to do with that. Just do what you have been called to do. What feels right. I am going to assemble the Ashen elves and reclaim the throne of chains.” Botard’s eyes rolled to the sky, and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out. “Ok, so I’m not going to disbelieve you, but we’re going to be ''killed for showing this kind of money in an inn like that. We need to get out of this city. Far, far away. I’m actually slightly suspicious that that inn is a hangout for a gang of…other death worshippers. Oh Seven! Fate is real. Destiny is real. I fucking knew it. Why are you not moving!” He was trying desperately to move away from the inn, Illiv had planted his feet at the mention of the other death worshippers. “The Grim Host? Is that who you mean?” Botard groaned “Yes, yes. They’re not like you though, oh Seven, they’re not like you. They’d cut your throat in a second for an ounce of that gold, so let’s go.” Illiv paused in thought for a second as Botard slowly descended into greater and greater madness. “Good. I had hoped to make contact with them.” Botard paced, and ran his fingers through his hair, muttering “hoped” to himself. “Do you think they’ll hunt me down? Perhaps they have good reason for needing this money.” “No, seven no! No, no, no! Yes they’ll hunt you! That’s bad!” Botard paced heavily in the street, glancing in the direction of the tavern. “Relax. Hide your gold somewhere and protect it. I’ll make contact with this group and meet you once more in that alley where we met. Be there every night until I return, please.” He began to walk off again and Botard chased after him. “Wait, wait…My Lord, please.” Illiv looked back to see the other man kneeling. “I am your humble servant. I will do as you command.” “There is no hierarchy among the dead, Botard. I will see you soon.” He walked away and Botard was left reeling. He’d fight like a devil for this money, for this man. His luck had turned.